When the Light Goes Out
by Jaina Durron
Summary: Another tribute fic to Carrie. Or, more for the rest of us, I guess. Han mourns along with us.


Semi-EU-compliant as far as Chewie is concerned. That shouldn't mess you up too much, though.

Also, yes, this is more pent-up Carrie grief.

* * *

 _At least she went peacefully_ , they all told him while putting out an arm to rest on his and offering sympathetic smiles. _She didn't have to suffer for long. It was sudden, so she didn't have to fear it._ Han would have laughed at that last comment if he wasn't in such torturous pain. Like Leia would have feared death!

However, to respond to all these not-really-sympathetic condolences, all Han had to say was that it didn't matter if it was sudden or it happened quickly or if she'd gone in her sleep, all of which she had. In Han's own selfish viewpoint, all that mattered was that she was dead and she'd had to go at all. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. It was like Han had been sitting in a locked closet, but could hardly care whether the door was locked or not because the light was always on. But, suddenly, someone had flicked the light switch off on him and he was still locked in the closet. No, the closet was cramped and Han felt claustrophobic. The closet had never made him feel claustrophobic before.

It was inevitable when Han found himself curled up on their bed, sniffing at her pillow to convince himself she was still there, and going through every holo of her he could find. His favorites were the ones from their wedding and the hundreds he'd taken of her during both of her pregnancies. He yearned to go back, touch time, and never let those moments end. He longed to hold her in his arms again and never let her go. He missed her bright, wide smile and the glitter to her eyes when she was truly happy. He missed having her right at his side, in the _Falcon,_ as his copilot. _She_ was a copilot he could never replace. Chewie's death had left him distraught, but he'd soon discovered that the perfect nominee for a new copilot had been right at his side. She'd been his copilot in the _Falcon_ and in life for years and Han knew in his heart that he would never be able to replace either of those two spots which sh'd occupied for so long.

With a sigh, Han nodded once and the man before him grinned laying out the credits. He counted them aloud. "Two, three, four. There you go. Five billion credits."

Han was hardly impressed as he took the money and shoved it into his back pocket. He didn't need it and it had taken him nearly a whole day to decide what he would do with the money once he got it. "Alright," he said weakly. "She's in the back." He put one foot forward and led the museum curator to the back of the bay. They came to the bucket of bolts and the curator whistled, beyond impressed. "I've never seen up up close before," he marveled.

Han nodded. "Lucky you. Most who have wouldn't suggest it."

The curator laughed. Han didn't.

"Well, she's yours now. Cleaned her out already. Everything's . . . packed away. Promise me you'll treat her well."

The curator smiled, running a hand along the freighter's hull as of to pet it. "Oh, it's an honor, Captain." Han cringed. "I promise the museum will treat her mighty fine. She's going to be our greatest treasure. Just imagine how many visitors she'll bring in. I have to thank you again, sir. She's a real beauty and I can't understand why you would give her up."

Han shrugged shortly, waving a hand to dismiss his wonder. "I'm getting old," he lied for a reason rather than the truth, though Han did feel like was aging much faster since that horrible day. "It's getting tougher for me to keep up with her."

The curator laughed again. "I'm sure. Well, anyway, thank you, Captain Solo. Hey! One more thing before you go! The code to lower the landing ramp. What is it?"  
"Oh. The code. Um, I know."

"Pardon me?"

"That's the code," Han said with a heavy sigh, turning away from the man and the ship that stored all his fondest memories. "The password for the landing ramp is 'I know'."


End file.
